


dream yourself awake

by poppyseedheart



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Pining, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 13:30:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14333469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poppyseedheart/pseuds/poppyseedheart
Summary: Finally, they’re both settled, and Ryan abruptly remembers that Shane was right about the bed—it issmall. He’s not freaked out by being in close quarters with his best bro who he also is maybe getting too attached to emotionally, but then again maybe he is. Just a little.





	dream yourself awake

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya new fandom! I tumbled headfirst into this ship and this is def not the last you'll be seeing of me :) I had fun filling this prompt over on [dreamwidth](https://bfukinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/972.html?thread=3276#cmt3276) and I am very grateful to Riley for the beta! You're the best! <3

“So that’s pretty small, huh?”

Ryan rolls his eyes. “If you want to sleep on the floor, fine, but I’m sleeping on this bed and you can’t stop me.”

Shane laughs, holding his hands up in mock surrender. Unfairly, he seems to have been way less exhausted by this trip than Ryan, probably because he didn’t expend a lot of energy trying not to get literally murdered by demons. “I wasn’t stopping you! Though I probably should take the floor, since my hands are going to be grazing it anyway.”

It’s their last day in Paris, and they had tentative plans to explore the nightlife until the grueling hours of the shoot had them both agreeing to just head back to the hotel and sleep it off. Ryan has the kind of job now where it’s not impossible to imagine coming back here. It takes off the edge of urgency that Ryan felt on their first few trips, when it seemed like even in the middle of nowhere they were beholden to some contract that said they had to make the absolute most of their travels, no excuses.

There had been a mixup with the hotel, though, and now they’re stuck in a room together that contains a chair, a desk, and a queen bed. There hadn’t even been any cots available when they called the front, which leaves them here trying to figure out sleeping arrangements.

“Suit yourself,” says Ryan, watching Shane unroll his sleeping bag. It’s still covered in dust, and Shane makes a face at it but doesn’t say anything. “I’m gonna shower.”

“Alright,” answers Shane distractedly, already going to plug his phone charger into the outlet on his side of the room.

It’s an easy back and forth they’ve developed, made easier by the way Shane has practically adopted him in the last month or so. And yeah, Ryan was maybe sad about Helen moving to New York, and even sadder about the two of them breaking up just a few days after she left, but he didn’t think he was so pathetic as to need rescuing. Shane, evidently, thought otherwise, since he brought Ryan on shopping trips, to theme parks, and just generally got him out of the apartment. And now they’re here, in Paris, and it’s easier than ever to spend time together in the same space.

An hour or so later, they’ve both showered, and the lights are low. Ryan is trying to beat his high score in Candy Crush (no one else plays it anymore but Ryan is _this close_ to beating it for good, okay?) and Shane keeps rolling over on the ground next to the bed.

“I think my sleeping bag has ants,” he observes.

Ryan grimaces. “Yikes.”

“Yikes, indeed. You’d think we’d at least see a ghost in a place so vile, but all we got was—agh, they’re biting me, this is terrible—ants.”

The bed creaks as Ryan scoots over. “Alright, alright, get up here. Just don’t bring any with you. If I find bugs in these sheets I will wake your ass up, don’t test me.”

“Fine, fine.” Shane makes a big show of brushing himself off and inspecting himself for insects before he joins Ryan on the bed, and Ryan laughs despite himself. Shane is infuriating, but more than that he’s a goofball with a good heart, and he’s very good at making Ryan laugh.

Admittedly, it’s not hard to make Ryan laugh. Still, though.

Shane crawls under the covers slowly, one absurdly long leg at a time. It’s chilly in the room, and Ryan shivers when the blankets are lifted up away from him. “Hurry up,” he mumbles mulishly.

Shane smiles. “Hold your horses, I’m getting there.”

Ryan harrumphs about it, mostly playful. He probably deserves the elbow he takes to the side because of it.

Finally, they’re both settled, and Ryan abruptly remembers that Shane was right about the bed—it is _small_. He’s not freaked out by being in close quarters with his best bro who he also is maybe getting too attached to emotionally, but then again maybe he is. Just a little.

Shane is very warm. “You’re a furnace,” Ryan mutters, trying not to lean into it.

“It’s that midwestern upbringing, baby. Gotta run hot or my blood would literally freeze in the winter.”

“Baby,” scoffs Ryan. There must have been a time in the past when he wasn’t hyper-aware of every pet name Shane has ever called him, but if such a time exists Ryan can’t remember it. “Shut up and go to sleep, asshole.”

“Rude,” says Shane, but his heart’s not in it. He sounds drowsy in a way that’s both familiar and not. Ryan knows what it sounds like when Shane’s voice takes on this quality, but Ryan himself is usually too scared out of his wits to really appreciate the softness. Now, tucked under the warm covers after a long shoot, there’s nothing to be afraid of.

Or…almost nothing.

Ryan, whose many talents include falling asleep quickly on any flat surface as long as he doesn’t feel like he’s in danger, drifts off before he can get too in his own head about what it means that they’re sleeping in a bed together somewhere actually nice. 

Unlike some people, he tends not to dwell on things he doesn’t want to be dwelling on.

 

…

 

The dream starts like any other. Ryan is at work, hustling to finish something before a deadline. The details of the project are milky in the way they always are in dreams, but they’re less important than the fact that he needs to be done, like, yesterday.

Next to him, Shane nonchalantly peels a banana. “You worry too much.”

Ryan scoffs. “That’s rich, dude.” Shane’s worry is a different beast from Ryan’s, onset by different triggers and projecting itself in entirely different ways, but that doesn’t mean Shane is Mr. Cool Calm and Collected all the time. Not the way he probably would like people to think he is.

“I’m just saying,” continues Shane, “you work so hard. You need to give yourself a break every once in a while, babe.”

Ryan doesn’t even blink at the endearment, because he remembers that he and Shane are dating. Of course they are. They have been for ages, even, and this is completely familiar ground. “Once I’m done with this, you can distract me however you want.”

Shane’s smirk goes equal parts playful and anticipatory, and Ryan smiles at him before putting his headphones back on and turning back to his work.

A hand lands on his thigh, warm and solid, and Ryan leans into it and—

—startles away with a gasp, heaving the covers off of his body.

“Shane,” he says. “Shane, fuck, I just heard something upstairs.”

“Hm?” asks Shane, not even remotely awake enough to respond coherently.

Slowly, Ryan’s faculties return to him, and he remembers where he is. Hotel, Paris, not haunted. As far as they know, at least, but it’s enough to get him oriented and remind him that this space is supposed to be safe. “Jesus Christ,” he whispers.

Shane stirs, propping his face up on one arm to look up at where Ryan is sitting up. “Nightmare?”

The dream is blurry and fading with every second that passes, but Ryan doesn’t need any help remembering the sweet cadence of Dream Shane’s voice calling him babe. “Uh,” he says, “not really. I’m just still keyed up, I guess.” 

Shane hums a little sound of acknowledgement. “C’mere, then.” He scoots and holds out an arm, an invitation into his space that has Ryan blinking in astonishment.

“What?”

“You’re going to work yourself up even more,” explains Shane patiently. He sounds more awake now, which Ryan feels only faintly guilty about. “Come on, we’re not filming right now. It’s fine.”

Ryan is too fucking tired to process all of this right now. “Are you sure?”

Shane’s smirk softens. “Can’t have you dying of a heart attack, can we? You’ll haunt me out of sheer stubbornness, and I’ll have to ignore you because you’re not real. It’d be a real strain on our relationship.”

Ryan hates the way his traitor heart stutters over the word _relationship_. “Fine,” he says, because he’s running out of reasons to say no. He tucks into Shane’s side carefully, slow in his movements. The sheets are hotel-starched, and they crinkle under his weight as he shifts. He ends up being more or less spooned, which isn’t usually his favorite, but he also isn’t usually cuddling in bed with someone that has pool noodles for limbs, so it’s probably a moot point. And anyway, it feels safe like this, like he won’t forget where he is next time he wakes up.

“Goodnight,” says Shane softly into Ryan’s hair. “Try to chill out this time.”

“Shut up,” answers Ryan.

Shane might reply, but Ryan doesn’t catch it before he falls back asleep.

 

…

 

He doesn’t wake up again until morning, and when he does it’s because he’s warm. It’s a different feeling after waking up freezing yesterday morning on location. His awareness returns to him in patches, slow and easy and not at all jarring. He can’t remember if he dreamed again, or what it was about.

Shane’s arm is a weight draped over his waist, his front pressed right against Ryan’s back. 

“Morning,” says Ryan, jostling him a little.

He didn’t need to, because Shane sounds far more awake than Ryan feels when he responds. “A good morning to you, too. How was being a body pillow for the night?”

“Fuck off,” says Ryan. It tilts high-pitched, startled. Shane just says shit like that sometimes, like he doesn’t have a filter, which is such a lie it’s laughable. Shane is more careful—with his words, his actions, his work—than almost anyone else Ryan knows, but he’s also so good at being surprising.

Now would be the time to slowly extricate himself from Shane’s grip and get ready to face the day. It’s not totally light out yet, though, and Ryan is so comfortable he finds himself content with lying there against Shane. It’s a slippery slope, but maybe he can have this, just for now.

“Sleep better?” asks Shane, this time earnest.

Ryan nods. “Thanks.”

“You wanna get breakfast soon?” Shane’s tone is still entirely neutral, causal and unbothered by their close quarters.

“Yeah,” says Ryan, but he makes no move to get out of bed.

It feels like a standoff, the two of them curled up together like quotation marks. Ryan can’t shake the gentleness of his dream, how it makes this feel like so much more than it would otherwise. 

“You wanna turn around and look at me?”

“Not really,” answers Ryan candidly.

Shane’s voice is strained when he answers, strange and stressed. “Turn around? Please?”

“Oh,” says Ryan, before he even understands what’s happening. He pauses a moment and then squirms around until his face is practically buried in Shane’s chest, eyes wide as he tries to figure out what’s going on. “You good?”

Shane’s eyes are dark enough to make Ryan’s voice die in his throat once he’s asked the question. They’re sweet and curious, but the want underneath is unmistakable. “I’m good,” he says. “You?” and it sounds like he’s asking about something more.

Ryan understands how much it means for Shane’s face to look as soft as it does.

Ryan is a believer: open, curious, earnest, and unafraid even when it’s easier to shy away from what he sees as hard truths. This truth is not hard. This truth makes sense; it’s made sense for a very long time, and Ryan is going to lean right in.

“Yeah,” answers Ryan on a breath, and then he surges up and kisses Shane, not tentative but careful, careful. Shane makes a little sound, and Ryan feels his face heat. 

Everything about this is clumsy. Ryan’s heart is racing at approximately a billion beats a minute.

Ryan thinks he is starting to understand why you only get one life. Never ever would he have scripted their first kiss to look like this, with the covers rucked at their waists and Shane’s expression so wide-eyed and gentled, but it’s perfect. It’s fucking perfect.

“Breakfast?” asks Shane when he regains his voice.

They have a lot to talk about. They also have a long flight home, though, and the buffet downstairs is calling Ryan’s name. He grins, giddy with all the emotions bubbling up in his chest. “Yeah,” he says, “sounds good.”

Shane smiles back, and Ryan thinks mostly about where they are and where they’re going. Outside, a street performer is strumming a guitar, and the notes soar up into the sky, melding with a cityscape that Ryan feels blessed to have met, sad to leave, and excited to move on from, just this once.

Shane gets up first, stretching out next to the bed. A strip of skin is revealed beneath his t-shirt, which really is just downright unfair, and Ryan finds himself entranced. “Enjoying the show?” Shane asks, when he notices Ryan watching.

Ryan laughs. “Fuck off,” he says, and he means _yes, yes, yes_. Yes now, yes later, and yes for what he hopes to be a very, very long time.

There’s something miraculous in Shane’s answering chuckle.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at teamokdynamite, a blog which keeps evolving into a bfu blog, and on twitter at poppyseedheart (private but i accept all fandom requests!)


End file.
